Perchance to Dream
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: Grell only wanted to take a nap after a hard day's work, unfortunately his cryptic dreams and a crisis among the reapers are keeping him from getting any rest.
1. Act I

**Perchance to Dream**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's note: The narrative and timeline of this story will seem disjointed and confusing at times, however everything will start pulling itself together to gradually reveal the true substance of the story. Be patient, it will make sense soon.

**Act I**

Caroline Wallace was at the front desk today wearing that cream-colored blouse she seemed to fancy so much. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, dainty finger adjusting her glasses as she typed. The phonograph behind her was playing a rather mild movement of Tchaikovsky.

Her eyes wandered to the front for a moment and a polite smile came across her face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Suctliff," she said.

Grell thought he returned the greeting but couldn't be sure of that at this point.

Her polite smile calmed to a look of mild concern.

"Are you all right," she said. "You look a little peaked."

"A rough collection, that is all," he managed to say.

His eyes and path went straight down the corridor. He thought he saw Caroline look at him for another moment before he heard typing again.

Through his splitting headache and aching muscles just now realized he was still carrying his death scythe. All he could think of was taking a nap; every step was a labor and his eyes were already fluttering closed. Such as the price for doing a full day after not sleeping as much as he should. That last one was a bit more difficult than usual though he didn't want to think on the particulars.

Grell thought about going up to his room, but the plush couch in the lounge just a few meters away was just calling to him. Grell endured those last few steps down the hallway. Fortunately this particular area was commonly desolate, only a few storage and file rooms were behind those white painted doors. At last he was in the wide room; the paintings of meadows and castles contrasting with the few pieces of skeletal reapers and souls pouring up into the air. Ever the aesthetic of the reapers; he managed a weak smile at this thought.

A momentary glance around the small tables and ornate chairs showed no one was in there, though this was common for this area. This lounge was mostly used by those who worked at the front desk or had business in the lobby. It was a bit father removed from most of the offices and significantly smaller. Most of the people who came here came to gossip over tea.

The furniture somewhat older, though that plush leather couch seemed to be waiting for him like a naked lover. A moment's thought dismissed his scythe as he kicked his heels and fell back like a leaf, caught by the soft folds of leather and feathers that embraced his aching body.

Grell stared at the ceiling for a moment, studying tiles in the ceiling adorned with fresh coat of off-white paint and the stray piece of gum someone must have spit up there. The view darkened as his lids grew heavier and slowly closed completely. He heard a few stray sounds around the hallway, the usual passing of footsteps.

The sounds faded as he slipped deeper and deeper into sleep until it was only quiet; sweet, sweet oblivion.

"It is over, Grell Sutcliff. There is no escape for you now."

Blue flames pierced the blackness, illuminating Sebastian Michaelis' form towering over him. Sebastian was smirking, eyes glowing purple with black slitted pupils. His butler uniform was spattered in blood, gloves drenched in dripping red; oh how handsome he looked. The black sword sticking up from his own chest gradually caught Grell's attention. The grass cushioned his prone form, the sword him keeping him pinned in the ground. He only tasted the blood flowing from his mouth.

"Your position is nonnegotiable, you are going to die. You do know what happens to reapers when they die."

"They fall into a peaceful oblivion. That's what they say. It's a bit hard to be judged twice over, a reward for service. Bollocks to that, Grell, more of the bloody unknown."

Grell was standing in the infirmary now, watching Alan Humphries bury himself a bit further into his bed sheets. Alan bit his lower lip hard and tried to keep his face from contorting with the threat of tears. Grell just stood there and looked down at him in bed, he averted his gaze for a moment to the porcelain pitcher and basin on the bed table.

Alan's gaze slowly moved up, God how pale he was .

"I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't scared of death," he said. "But maybe…maybe I'm just used to the idea. You can't be around it for this long without wondering what that last trip would be like for you."

Grell had no idea what to say in response. What does one say in a situation like this without sounding completely tactless?

Alans words rang trough his head as he looked up to see the massive black overhead in a familiar corridor, panels painted with cherubs were embedded into the sides. Grell noticed how lovelier the Renaissance-style paintings were spattered in blood; someone made quite a mess of things. He lightly ran the tip of his pinkie along the wall, seeing the blood stay in place like rich paint. Whatever had been done was done a while ago, within the past week he would say.

A rumble turned his attention forward, the canopy bed was a dark outline against the blazing sunlight. All he heard was a woman screaming, screams that faded into the cracks of a whip and the feel of stinging against his flesh.

Grell writhed against a stone wall, a set of chains keeping him in place. The pain was glorious; hard leather wielded so ably by the beautiful demon before him. Sebastian's leather corset wrapped beautifully against his muscular frame though revealing enough flesh to keep Grell happy. Black horns protruded from his long hair that whipped around with every able movement of his arm.

Grell flailed against the shackles holding him to the wall, feeling the cold stone against his naked flesh. He tried to scream out in ecstasy but his voice was quiet. Bassie stopped for a moment and stared at him with those cruel red eyes. Grell's own eyes trailed down that gorgeous body; he wasn't wearing any trousers. His massive manhood was waiting at the ready and getting closer to him.

"If you were so inclined you could call it a miracle, or simply medical science at its finest," a voice said.

Grell's eyelids twitched, opening slightly then closing.

"How is he now?"

That was Will's voice. Grell managed a sharp breath; such a pity he had to be woken up from such a lovely moment. Oh well, Sebastian would show up in his dreams again; perhaps maybe something better awaited him.

"We will have to monitor him closely. It looks as if the worst has passed for the time being, but we can never be too cautious."

Grell finally recognized the second voice, he would recognize that cheery Scottish brogue anywhere; Dr. Ian Sutherland, the chief physician for the London office.

"Though I can tell you just five years ago he would be permanently gone," Dr. Ian continued.

It sounded like they were in the hallway, Grell was in the perfect position to eavesdrop on some juicy gossip.

"I'm nothing short of amazed, a Voice attack at that distance should have killed him within an hour," Will said.

"He's a tough little bastard I can tell you that, though we got to him just in time," the doctor said. "The bleed was more manageable than even the scans showed. We relieved the pressure and stopped the bleeding easier than I thought we would, his healing is where it should be now. He just had so much in his favor."

Voice attack…bleed. Grell could picture the textbook in front of him.

_The Voice of God, also the Voice of the Almighty; commonly referred to as "Voice Attack," or "Angel Blast." A special attack ability possessed by angels, utilizing the power of their voice to create a sonic blast. The blast creates pressure in the cranium of any humanoid creature, causing blood vessels to rupture with exact effects depending on the creature's disposition. _

_Frequency: Rare_

_Once used, the angel will lose that attack ability for a period of time estimated to be several days. It is used more as a last gasp effort when all other options have been exhausted. _

Grell only remembered skimming this section, but he had been forced to go to enough meetings and discussions to hear new information over the past hundred years. The basic facts were still the same and very, very nasty; humans directly exposed to the blast would have their head explode, he'd seen photos of it. Allegedly demons were vulnerable to it too, though the instruction came with the warning that most demons were only stunned and would regroup soon.

The attack was just as lethal to reapers except slower and quieter. He had never known any reapers who had been attacked, but everyone always heard of someone. The stories were all the same; the reaper will appear fine at first but gradually collapse and never wake up. Apparently the blast caused an irreversible brain hemorrhage, though a few meetings mentioned that surgical procedures had been found to cut off the bleeding and allow the reaper to heal normally. Whether they worked or not was another matter, though was this such a case? Did a reaper just survive a Voice attack?

"He is showing normal brain function and reflexes," Dr. Ian said. "He will likely remain unconscious for the next few days, possibly going in and out of it. We will need to keep a close eye on him, watch for any seizures or any recurring bleeds."

He survived, but still Grell couldn't imagine the poor guy's current situation was very pleasant.

"Can he recover fully from this," Will said.

"If he continues this course I see a complete recovery. There is potential for slurred speech or difficulty walking, but that remains to be seen. He will need some physical therapy to get his muscles moving a bit more. He very well could come out of this perfectly fine."

"Should he recover from this, would it be possible for him to return to normal duties?"

"I don't see why not. Whether he'll be as quick on his feet remains to be seen, though he could still be able in his duties."

Grell listened for a name, but his focus was slipping fast into the beautiful blackness of sleep. Word had probably spread of this incident and it was likely the talk of the town by now. He would find out who the poor bastard was soon enough, right now he was bent over on a bed; Will was keeping him busy enough.

Those powerful hands slammed him against the wall, his knee connecting with the back of Grell's leg to gain a better footing to he could drive into him harder. Grell let out breathy gasps, feeling those hands pulling his hair at the roots. He could feel locks sliding out easily.

He slapped a hand out of the way, looking up and seeing Angelina leaning over him and glaring at him. She stopped her gyrations over him for a moment though he only smiled at her. She gave him a wicked grin and continued.

Oh how radiant Angelina looked radiant in the white gown she wore now; the bodice accentuated her shapely figure, but the ruffles gave her a gentle appearance. That gorgeous red hair was pulled back into a bun, a few strands of crimson falling over her beautiful face. He took her gloved hand and kissed the modest rings he was able to give her. Her hand reached up and caressed his own loose strands of brown hair, resting against the arm of his gold-rimmed glasses before leaning in for a gentle kiss. Her lips tasted like blood.

"Oh, so sorry to disturb," a woman's voice said off to the side with a small laugh. "Ciel just couldn't wait to see you."

They broke from the kiss to see Rachel walking toward them, little Ciel clutched to her skirt.

"Auntie An!" Ciel cried, scrambling to his aunt and wrapping his arms around her legs. "You look so beautiful, Auntie; like a queen."

"Oh thank you my darling nephew," Angelina said, leaning down to embrace the little boy.

Her white gown bled red with the force of his embrace, little red handprints dripping down the fabric. He looked over at Grell; that cold gaze from his visible eye accentuated by a wicked smirk for one moment, then to two wide blue eyes and the happy smile of a child.

"Wait, Grell you married my aunt," Ciel said. "Does this mean you're my uncle now?"

"It most certainly does, my dear," Grell said.

Ciel pulled from his aunt and walked over to him.

"Hello there, Uncle Grell," Ciel said with a little bow.

"Hunter's dead, Uncle Grell! My puppy's dead!"

The young man in front of him now sobbed hard, his face was as red as his hair, tears pouring from those supposedly stoic eyes.

"T-t-they found him by the barn. They said a fox just ate him up."

The dripping mess was practically falling through his hands, a few scraps of gold fur was the only thing keeping the torn carcass together. Blood poured down to the floor from the tears his filet knife left in the damn dog's body. Grell looked down at his knife, more blood pouring from the blade. The creature's yowls sounded through his head like a bloodcurdling scream.

Ciel was the only child in front of him now. Someone was screaming when he picked Ciel off his feet; no voices he recognized at the wedding party. Grell knew he only had a few steps to the French window. The glass shattered, Ciel's body flew through the window; a funnel of black and white feathers lifting him up into the air as he smirked. Grell could hear Ciel's voice in the air.

"Salvation? Don't make me laugh. I am beyond saving and the same will be true of you too."

Feathers flowed into the waterfall that poured from the mountain that rose in front of him. Grell adjusted his seat on the blanket underneath him and watched it in wonder.

"Oh William, this is such a lovely spectacle," he said, his voice high and dainty like a well-groomed lady. "You certainly know how to be romantic."

William sat across from her, lifting a small teapot from a basket.

"Only for you, my lovely," William said, gazing at her with the warmest smile.

Will's attention went back to pouring the tea, the fine cups resting in the woven basket tray. Grell reached into the picnic basket and took out a watercress sandwich. It was a little hard to reach that far over, the large bulge of her womb was a happy little obstacle.

"Oh, let me get that for you, dear," Will said. "You don't want to be straining yourself in your condition."

Grell laughed, Will's hands rested on the bulge encased in her red dress. She felt a little kick, Will must have felt it too; he grinned and laughed.

"I am so happy, my lovely wife," he said, gently taking her hands.

The bright surroundings went dark, Grell was standing under the archway again but light burst forth when he cleared it. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows in shades of blue, green, and beautiful red. Grell took a glance at the designs, keeping half an eye on his surroundings. Scenes from the Winchester Psalter: souls writhing in the gaping Mouth of Hell, the archangel unlocking the gates. Christ blindfolded, tied to a pole, and whipped by a bucktoothed Pilate. He saw John the Baptist with his bloody head in his hands among the assortment of praying martyrs.

"The Judgment is upon us," a female voice echoed down the corridor. "And I have been the herald for the doomsday."

Grell took light steps forward, slowly raising his death scythe into position.

"The false prophets have been warned," the voice continued.

"Was that your intention? Though simple cold murder sounds about more accurate to me," another voice said, bearing the high pitch of a child yet the curdled scorn of a cold man.

The bright light faded to glowing ashes and the sear of a sword piercing his heart. The white sword staked him into the ground, blood ran from Grell's body like a river. He was cold, his vision fading; every muscle in spasms.

"You do not have long left, you know this," Sebastian said, fangs exposed with his cruel smirk. That gorgeous face framed with flowing black hair, eyes glowing purple. "You fought bravely against your foes. My master might remain silent on the subject, but he owes you greatly."

Sebastian touched the pommel of the sword; white bleeding with inky black and racing into Grell's dying flesh. Grell gasped; darkness, hatred, poison pumped into his veins. This wasn't dying; this was rebirth. The weak reaper's flesh transforming into something more vile; something more powerful. His body flailed with the pain, the ecstasy, the liberation of this new death.

"No, no, NO! Bloody hell don't do this please!" a familiar voice floated in the air: he could practically see the agony on Ronald Knox's face.

His flailing stilled as if his body turned to stone and crashed to the ground. He became light again, rising like a feather; his form now immaterial shadow hovering in the darkness of oblivion. This form needed a new shape.

High, red boots planted into the ashes, legs and forming breasts now encased in red leather, a black cloak flying in the wind. Black claws were fully extended, red hair whipping around black horns. Grell's pointed tongue ran over her sharp teeth. Her clawed hand ripped the glasses from her face and tossed them to the ground, the pointed heel of her boot smashing them against the rock.

"Come to me, my consort," Sebastian said.

She turned around, her demon eyes falling on the beautiful arch demon in black leather, black feathers flying all around him. Grell took her first steps toward him, extending her hand and seeing Sebastian grip it gently, putting it to his black lips.

Grell felt the warm press against his hand, strong fingers gently surrounding it. There was no smell of ashes and sulfur now, only clean cotton and a hint of cologne.

"How long have we known each other, Grell Sutcliff," Will's voice said through the blackness.

Those cold green eyes bore into his, though Will's expression was a bit gentler. Sad perhaps? Was that possible?

"The exact number of years means nothing to us now, but it has been over a century," Will said. "You've spent the past century annoying the hell out of me. Do you want to know the irony? I can't fathom the thought of losing that."

Grell had no words in response, he just savored the feeling of Will's hand over his.

"I'll admit it; you have been a good friend," Will continued. "We've been through a lot together. As much as I lament it, that devil-may-care scoundrel is who you are. It's your greatest strength; laughing in the face of things that curdle the blood of the rest of us. If you leave, if you fail this test, I will never forgive you."

Even through his broken glasses and swollen eyelids, he could still see Will's disappointed glare. After all the kicking and dragging Will had done from Whitechapel back to the office, that was the one gesture from him that stung the most. The renewed gush of blood from his broken nose only accentuated the point. Will only glared at him, then shook his head; walking out the door with Grell's death scythe in hand. The judgment of his superiors for his crimes didn't scare him nearly as much.

Eric Slingby suddenly shoved him into the wall; he must have been upright again. There was no blood, only the sting in his arm. Eric's hands were clearly trembling; it was the only thing kept Grell from finding a soft spot to kick him in.

"Sutcliff I beg of you, please don't hold this against him," Eric whispered in bullying desperation. "When he gets his attacks, he just loses control of his body. You haven't seen it as much as I have, he truly couldn't help it."

Dr. Ian told Grell his arm would likely ache through the night; any scythe wounds had that aftereffect, even the small slice he got when Alan dropped his blade in their close formation. It was a small slice across the upper arm, though it burned immensely. His momentary urge to punch Alan into the wall was tempered when he saw him writhing on the ground amongst the scattered charred corpses in the burning warehouse; face contorted and screaming in pain.

"Eric dear, there's no need to worry about me," Grell said, proud of how he kept his temper at bay while trying to get his arm in a more comfortable position despite the bandage and the five stitches. "It's poor Alan I'm more worried about."

Alan was a good enough guy; polite, friendly to a point if not a little uptight. He was tempted think he would have preferred Eric as the victim in this relationship; the sideways glares and brutish attitude did not make him one of Grell's favorite people. Still, he wouldn't wish the Thorns of Death on anybody; it was a slow, agonizing way to die from what he understood.

Eric closed his eyes and sighed hard, for once Grell held some sympathy for him.

"I admire how you care for him so," Grell said.

Their bodies looked so romantic laying side by side, united by their spilled blood, framed by a wall of rising souls from Eric's scythe.

"I just don't want to be useless to anyone," Alan was lying in bed again, he couldn't hold back his sob by this point. "Then I lose control, then I cut open my colleague with my scythe. I don't want to think on the worst I could have done to you."

Grell patted his hair, a finger wiping a tear from Alan's cheek.

"I'm so sorry Sutcliff. I just…I just couldn't control myself."

The sounds of a few footsteps in the hallway pulled his attention back to the room. He could almost feel tears building in his eyes. It was just a dream, only that. Grell focused more on the snickers a few meters from him.

"I'll tell you, I pity the poor sod who's in the same room with him when he sees himself."

**End of Act I**

**Continues Act II**


	2. Act II

**Perchance to Dream**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities. Contains lines from "Hamlet" by William Shakespeare.

**Act II**

Grell opened his eyes slightly, seeing two younger reapers through the door standing in the hallway talking amongst themselves. His vision was slightly out of focus, the usual spirit colors in a haze and not in organized forms. His glasses must have slipped off while he slept. Bloody hell, how long had he been asleep for? He thought to check his pocket watch, but lacked the ambition at the moment. The younger reapers giggled.

"Though will this make him less of a pain in the arse," the other one said, a rather muscley lad with shaggy brown hair. "Maybe they gave him a lobotomy while they were at it."

"We can only hope," the first one said, a rather scrawny black-haired git whose name Grell couldn't remember at the moment. "Though he ain't gonna be gettin' much tail the way he looks now. Serves him right, wanker."

They were talking about the poor chap who took the angel blast weren't they? Grell wanted to get up and feed them a piece of his mind until Will's scythe embedded into the wall near the little one's head. That shut them up right quick.

"Number one, that 'wanker' you're talking about is a gravely injured colleague," Will said, voice pure ice. "Number two, we have already had two deaths in this office in recent memory and you'll regret celebrating if there is a third. This 'wanker' you speak of, Mr. Phillips, does have colleagues who would gladly do terrible things to you if you repeated those words in their general vicinity. Let's avoid a messy situation, shall we."

Will retracted his scythe, glaring at the two stunned kids.

"Mr. Phillips, Mr. Morton, both of you are on warning," he said.

The young ones glanced at him and walked down the hallway. Will looked in the room, meeting Grell's gaze for a second, giving him a softer look than he expected. Grell got ready to jump up despite his headache and his aching body, but Will looked away and walked back down the corridor.

It was driving him crazy now, who was it who was injured? He blinked a few more times, lids growing heavy again. Grell tried to fight the pull of sleep; he wanted to get up and inquire about this mystery, but he just felt too tired. Judging from what the louts said, the poor guy must have been badly marred.

Grell's eyes closed once more and sleep took him. A figure lay on the bed in front of him, a bandage wrapping his head.

Ronald's screams sounded through the universe:

"Don't do this please!"

Grell's blood ran cold, a loose strand of blond hair stuck out from the wrappings.

A white figure rose high from behind the bed, mouth gaping open. Ron lay prone on the floor, his face contorted in agony. Grell just wanted to rush forward and scoop him up, the French window off to the side was a beautiful sight. Reapers could endure the shattered glass, could a human? It was too late to question that now.

Grell's eyes flew open with a start. He blinked a few times and tried to clear his head, at last closing his eyes in relief. No, that couldn't be. It was just a part of his dream; Ron was fine, that was it.

Ron was now sitting in front of him now in a plush chair, his white shirt opened slightly with easy access for a few female hands. He was surrounded by ladies in lacy dresses with plunging necklines, each one practically pushing each other out of the way for a space next to him. He only reclined in the chair and read from a leather-bound book.

"_To die, to sleep, To sleep perchance to dream_," Ron said to the ladies, making a dramatic gesture with his hand, "_ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause. There's the respect that makes calamity of so long life._"

He was reciting the lines rather well despite his rougher manner of speech. And Ron said he found Shakespeare a right bore.

The image faded to the sickroom again, the large canopy bed in front of him. He couldn't tell who lay on the bed before him; his face was bandaged up tight, blood seeping through the cloth. A large pair of black-framed glasses rested on the night table.

The figure suddenly turned to an elderly woman in a flowered nightgown, frizzy gray hair flying everywhere. She sat up in bed, blood gushing from her nose. She pressed a handkerchief to her face and glared at the boy standing in front of her.

"My body may be weak, but I will be whole with God soon," the woman said. "The spirit lives within me and shall embrace me in the end."

"The spirit that called you to murder those people?" Ciel said, his gun aimed right at her. "Don't continue this act with me, Matilda Cornwall. I saw what you did to your last two victims; you were hardly weak when you mounted them on those walls."

Grell was near the doorway, taking a few steps closer to this scene. He then saw Sebastian's glowing eyes in the shadows, the beautiful demon was standing in the doorway out of view. Sebastian looked at him and smirked, raising a hand for him to stop his course for a moment. Sebastian pointed in the direction of the bed, mouthing "her?" Grell nodded with a smirk. The demon's smile grew wider and he put a finger to his lips.

Grell looked forward again and saw the bandaged figure again in place of the old woman. More blood was seeping through the wrappings; a pair of red glasses rested on the night table. He cautiously walked forward, the prone form in the bed now looked like Alan. They wanted to keep him in the infirmary overnight, apparently this last attack was particularly bad.

A few wheezing cackles escaped from the old woman now in front of him. Grell checked his book again: Matilda Cornwall, scheduled to die 15 of March, 1890 at 11:22 in the morning of massive blood loss and organ trauma. Grell looked down at his watch: 11:07. Her cackles exploded into coughs and gasps.

"The blasphemers shall be sacrificed upon their altars, their blood purifying the corruption wrought upon God," she managed to gasp out.

Alan lie in a heap on the floor, Eric's bloody body next to him; their spilt blood uniting them in eternity. Eric's death scythe lay across from him gushing with the blood of a thousand people, running thick like a river. How many dirty looks did Slingby give him after his punishment was completed? Did the pompous bastard ever imagine he would go after a thousand people in a desperate attempt to cure his beloved? Passion makes murderers out of even the most pompous men, though he didn't feel right laughing at him. All Grell could do now was watch.

Grell was now a small child sitting in the back of a wardrobe, his little hand pressed tightly over his mouth and trying not to even breathe. He just remembered the black dresses hanging over him, though he couldn't help but stare at the gushing river pouring from the maid's neck. Father stood over her; yellow teeth sticking out against the red spatters that covered his face. The axe was still in his hand as he beheld his handiwork; mother's maid and the house footman, husband and wife, both dead. Grell trembled violently, his heart pounding. Dear God what would happen if father found him there?

"Are you a good little boy," father hissed in his ear, the stench of whisky wafting from his breath. The bloody axe slowly passed in front of his face. "I wouldn't want a naughty child."

"I am cleared of my own sins, thus promised the pure one," Matilda said amidst more wheezing. "The weak flesh shall be purified and made whole by the Almighty."

Grell realized he was still standing in the doorway with Sebastian. Did he just black out? The scene was still playing out in front of him, such couldn't have been the case. Sebastian stepped forward. Ciel took a momentary look back at his butler, but his gaze fell on the other figure in the shadows. Grell gave him a small wave, Ciel couldn't hold back a delightfully wicked smirk.

"Might I inquire who this 'pure one' is?" Sebastian asked. "Though I know the answer."

The old woman gave another cackle.

_"For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes_," Ron's voice floated through his head again. He stumbled over a couple lines, though he was doing well.

His voice sounded so close, real in fact.

Grell broke from the scene and slowly opened his eyes, still hearing the reading though Ron suddenly stopped. His head ached but he managed to move it to the side. Ron was sitting right next to him; what a sight for sore eyes he was, though was this another dream?

Ron slightly jumped in surprise, almost dropping the book he was reading from though the finger marking the page held it in place. Grell smirked, he wanted to just laugh at him and go back to sleep, but this required substantial ribbing.

"Reading me Shakespeare in my sleep, darling," Grell whispered, every word an effort against his grogginess. "Oh how romantic."

Ron's cheeks turned bright red and he looked almost panicked, his breath in small gasps.

"You…you've been listening the whole time?" Ron said.

"Don't worry, dear, you're doing magnificent for a novice," Grell said, feeling himself wake up a little more. This part was indeed real.

Ron gave a nervous laugh.

"Well…I'm trying to…umm."

"Woo some of the girls? I'd say 'Hamlet' is a rather poor choice, but good for practice."

Ron slightly calmed, looking at him almost helplessly.

"Yeah, that's it," he said. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me a little."

Oh how he wanted to, he wanted to recite the lines along with him; show him how they should be delivered. Alas, his head swam and his lids were once again heavy. He would help the boy out when he sufficiently rested.

"I'm sure I could do that," Grell said, his lids growing heavier. "But I'm a little too tired right now."

Ron nodded, Grell could see his shoulders shaking.

"Hey I can wait, just don't take too long," Ron said. "Mr. Spears is gonna be pissed if he catches you taking your sweet time."

"I saw him a little while ago, he's probably pissed already," Grell said, his consciousness fading. "Oh sod him, I'm bloody tired."

"Your funeral," Ron said with a chuckle.

Grell chuckled and closed his eyes again, though thought of one more thing.

"Hey, Ronnie," he said. "Who was the poor bloke who was hit by the angel blast? I've been hearing about it all afternoon."

Ron stared at him, mouth slightly open.

"Where did you hear about that?" he said.

"A little bit of talk around," Grell said. "So dreadful."

"I…I'm probably not the one you want to be talking to," Ron said. "I'm sure someone else can tell you."

"I'll probably be hearing about it soon enough," Grell said, though he had an odd feeling Ron was lying to him.

He closed his eyes and let sleep take him, swearing he heard Ron let out an exasperated sigh.

He was back in the doorway, Matilda Cornwall's eyes shooting daggers into Sebastian.

"I believe eight victims were found though I'd hazard a guess there were a few that remained unnoticed, but just who were they?" Sebastian said. Grell could only see the back of his head but could imagine his wicked smirk. "Priests, friars, vicars, pastors, and a few rabbis thrown in for good measure. It was that one Brahman that first drew our attention, our Indian friends were none too pleased about that."

"All who supposedly died of accidents or illnesses though too many to be a coincidence," Ciel said. "You got sloppy; you left a trail of churches you attended in the past year. Then there were those last two hanging from the ceiling over their altars. That bloody dress is still in the laundry room downstairs."

"Though as we well know it wasn't the woman who got sloppy, nor was she capable of that last display," Sebastian said.

Her wheezing cackles grew louder.

"Naturally, and you hoped we would overlook the murderer if it were simply a dying old woman," Ciel said. "The benefits of having the Devil by my side."

"'For so my righteous path against the blasphemers has been thwarted by mine own kind, I shall declare my own path,'" Sebastian said. "'The truly righteous shall become part of me and we shall gather as a rock to smash those false prophets of the Almighty.'"

Just what the hell was Bassie talking about? The cackles grew louder, clearly it was having some effect.

"How long has it been since that promise was made to a cruel God?" Sebastian said, taking a few steps closer. "'The Prophecy of Cassius,' the promise of a fallen angel; one who murdered human holy leaders under the presumption no human could ever understand God's true message. Cassius expected the rest of the Choir would rally toward the cause, instead it resulted in being banished from Heaven and cursed to walk the earth in an immaterial form. You have been trying to regain power, I presume even your superiors didn't think you capable of eating souls."

Angel

No one said anything about an angel.

Grell felt cold.

This had to just be a dream, but it felt so real. What was this? A memory?

This was just all supposed to be a routine reaping. Why didn't anyone tell him? Was he set up? No, angels could rewrite Cinematic Records; this creature wrote itself out of hers No one saw the trap laid out, no one had any way of knowing. But the results were…

Somehow he only remembered feeling annoyed at this turn of events, silently spitting out a curse and hoping this little surprise came with a bonus.

Her cloudy eyes took on an eerie purple glow, she looked calmly at Sebastian, a new trickle of blood running from her nose.

"Eat souls?" she said, though her voice took on an inhuman echo. "Only demons eat souls. Demons devour them, destroy them; I give them a new purpose. These souls live in a paradise I created for them, they are free of their dying bodies. They willingly gave themselves to me as a noble offering knowing that I would grow stronger to work toward the cleansing of humanity."

There were more souls involved? Why didn't he hear about this? Because they were probably written off as consumed by a demon.

"You absorb souls to gain sustenance, you're no better than my kind," Sebastian said with a chuckle. "No, you are much worse, you are a deluded weakling. Do you want to know how I learned of your story? Because it has made the rounds among demons for the past several hundred years as a farce, as a running joke; to demons you are a laughingstock."

Grell drew against the wall, his death scythe at the ready; he knew this was coming. Blood gushed from the woman's nose and her head bowed for a moment, only to snap back up and glare at Sebastian. She slowly sat up further in the bed looking much more limber than she was before. She held out her hand and a beam of light projected from it, taking the form of a white sword.

"Naturally as your host dies you grow stronger," Sebastian said. "However a millennium of walking the earth makes one weak. You do realize you're outmatched, Cassius. You've bit off more than you can chew."

"I am much stronger than you or that scavenger of death that stands behind you," the woman said, her voice no longer hers but taking on a different tone.

The woman rose in the air, body glowing, eyes pure white; raising the sword in hand.

"I shall bring the heads of Death and the Devil to the gates of Paradise," the angel said.

"Oh come on with it, Bassie, can we start playing now?" Grell called.

She gnashed her teeth and dove at Sebastian. A butter knife embedded into her head, smoke poured out and she screamed though lay on. More knives appeared in her, she thrashed around in pain. Grell turned on the motor of his scythe and leapt forward, the sword parrying his blade away in a hail of sparks.

"Oh now you decide to show your true colors," Sebastian said, leaping forward and tossing more silverware into the angel's body.

Grell lay on again, swiping at her shoulder. A chunk of flesh flew off with a spray of blood. The angel swung the blade at him before doing a sweeping slice at Sebastian. Sebastian leapt into the air, feet landing on the blade and jumping upward; one foot coming up to kick her in the head.

"Oh don't be polite with her, love," Grell said. "All I need is the woman's soul. The rest is just scraps."

The angel managed to smack Sebastian in the stomach with the pommel of the sword. Sebastian gasped and leapt away, tumbling to the floor and rolling to a stand while he regained his bearings. The blade of the sword met Grell's scythe again, though Grell gave a quick feint and repositioned the blade to the angel's midsection. The angel lifted her legs from the bed and flew in midair, slicing at Grell's head. Grell ducked, a few locks of red hair flying away.

"Ohhh you'll pay for that one," Grell hissed.

The sole of a fine loafer planted in the angel's side, knocking her down. Loud cracks sounded through the room, blood sprayed from several holes that appeared across her nightgown. She collapsed to the floor, glowing brighter and shaking violently though her form rapidly stilled.

"You mentioned something about 'fusing with the soul at the right moment' Sebastian?" Ciel said, his smoking gun still poised in his hand. "That moment has been interrupted."

The body twitched, white mist pouring from her mouth and from the holes.

"Now stop playing and end this!" Ciel shouted.

Grell's scythe whirred and sunk into the woman's body in a shower of blood and flesh. She emitted a final screech before the cinematic reels burst from the wounds. She had been a laywoman at her church, she raised a family, buried a husband, and buried two children. Mourning lead to hatred of God, a blood disease made her want to repent. That's when a glowing figure came to her in the midst of prayer; "Sacrifice the impure and I will give you a personal audience with God." She picked off her victims one by one, the angel pointing out each one. All along the weak angel melded with her body, though this moment severed the connection. The thing had to have obfuscated its presence in her immediate record though the fresh reels showed everything.

Her body was still now, the mist now surrounding her and rising up. A glowing white silhouette rose from the body, mist rising over the reels. A large form towered over them, misty arms rising to the side.

"Now this gets serious," Sebastian said, eyes glowing with his diabolical grin.

Sebastian leapt up and sliced at the form, his hand passing through its arm with a burst of flames. The figure gave a shrill scream and slammed Sebastian aside. Sebastian was caught off guard by this move and tumbled, the arm batting at him again. Sebastian avoided that blow, but the shoulder of the angel pushed him aside. Grell leapt into the air, scythe blade whirring though he was unsure what his blade could do against such a creature.

A misty foot kicked him across the room, he regained his bearings and leapt up again, slicing into the mist. A scream emitted from the being and blue flames burst out. Sebastian charged forward, forks flying through the form with more howling and flames. The creature batted at Sebastian, Sebastian dodged the blow, only to be hit by one much stronger that threw him to the side. Both of the demon's feet went through the nearby window and he flew through the glass, his gloved hands dropping down and taking hold of the windowsill readying himself to leap up.

The angel looked at Grell; the outline of a fair face surrounded by white misty hair. Its mouth opened up, white shadows pouring from a gaping maw and emitting a low hum. The pressure in the room increased sharply, Grell's mouth dropped open; he knew what this meant.

"_When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?_" Ron's voice was the only sound he heard.

It all played out so slowly, though the actual event was barely in the blink of an eye. Grell turned off the motor and plummeted downward, one hand grabbing Ciel by the shoulder.

"Well hello, Uncle Grell," an innocent voice said.

"You just go on and kill the brat now, you hear," he heard his own voice say through the air. "If you don't kill him, he'll kill you instead."

"I cannot kill this child," he heard Madam Red say, her voice once deliciously angry now pleading.

Her body weighed down the end of his death scythe but was easily thrown off. He caught a glimpse of Ciel's mouth gaping open as the kid watched this in horror.

Grell's boots hit the ground for one moment. The hum grew louder. Grell picked Ciel off the floor, leaping toward the window. He kicked the glass in ready to jump out with him, holding Ciel still as he flailed and sputtered in protest.

The hum went quiet, Grell had a second to move into flight from the window and a second wasn't enough. Sebastian had no time to get to this side of the room and avoid what was coming. If he were wise, he would have know flying around the other side was the only way he could save his master.

Grell tossed Ciel through the window, watching him fall with the shower of glass and the scared look on his face as he fell downward.

All Grell heard was a woman screaming.

"_But that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will…_"

Grell never heard the shot then, only felt the barrel to his head for one moment, but there was no black clad figure watching with a scythe at this moment. That was so long ago, this assault was cleaner; the damage purely internal.

This wasn't the past, this was the present…this wasn't reality, it was only a dream; a memory. A scene from his Cinematic Record.

He must have blocked out the searing pain through his skull and his stomach jerking, he just felt the rush of air with his falling body. The sight of glass and lack feathers flowing upward.

The souls Eric trapped rose to their afterlives in a chorus of cheers.

Angelina's blood flew through the air, her soul would follow out with it soon.

All was quiet, still.

"_…And makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?_"

A voice called Sebastian's name. Grell suddenly felt himself jerk up, he managed to look over to see a white gloved hand grabbing his. Sebastian flew upward, Ciel safely clutched in his other arm and looking at him in panicked confusion. Grell let go of his hand and fell down again, though gained control of his legs and landed on a lower eaves of the roof. He fell to his knees and let his scythe fall beside him. Both palms came to the edge of the roof and he violently wretched over it, stabbing pains shooting through his head. He registered a mass of black feathers flying in the air.

Sebastian flew back up to the window from which they had just came, a swirl of feathers surrounding him and horns protruding from his forehead. Grell saw him gently place Ciel on a flat part of the roof and reenter the building in a black mist. Ciel looked down at Grell, Ciel's lips mouthing his name.

He merely smiled back and leapt up, disappearing from the human plane. Grell then found himself stumbling through the main lobby

Caroline Wallace was at the front desk today wearing that cream-colored blouse she seemed to fancy so much. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, dainty finger adjusting her glasses as she typed. The phonograph behind her was playing a rather mild movement of Tchaikovsky.

Her eyes wandered to the front for a moment and a polite smile came across her face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sutcliff," she said.

Grell thought he returned the greeting but couldn't be sure of that at this point.

Her polite smile calmed to a look of mild concern.

"Are you all right," she said. "You look a little peaked."

"A rough collection, that is all," he managed to say, eyes going straight ahead.

Through his splitting headache and aching muscles he just now realized he was still carrying his death scythe. All he could think of was taking a nap; every step was a labor and his eyes were already fluttering closed. Grell thought about going up to his room, but the plush couch in the lounge just a few meters away from him was just calling to him.

Grell endured those last few steps down the hallway until he was in the wide room; the paintings of meadows and castles contrasting with the few pieces of skeletal reapers and souls pouring up into the air. Ever the aesthetic of the reapers; he managed a weak smile at this thought.

A moment's thought dismissed his scythe as he kicked his heels and fell back like a leaf, caught by the soft folds of leather and feathers that embraced his aching body. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, studying tiles adorned with fresh coat of off-white paint and the piece of gum someone must have spit up there. The view darkened as his lids grew heavier and slowly closed completely.

**End of Act II**

**Continues and concludes in Act III**


	3. Act III

**Perchance to Dream**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

**Act III**

Grell heard a few stray sounds around the hallway, the usual passing of footsteps. His eyes gradually opened and focused on the ceiling, his senses slowly returning yet the haze of sleep remained. There were no tiles here, no piece of gum from his vantage point; only flat, clean white. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, allowing the somber realization to settle in.

His eyes gradually trailed to the side though he knew what he was going to see already. There were no crafted tables and chairs here, no paintings of mountains and skeletal reapers on the wall; only white walls lined with simple beds adorned with white linens, a night table and basin beside each of them. On the other side of his vision was a white curtain that encircled half of his area. Grell managed to shift and felt his form lying flat on a comfortable mattress instead of arcing over the arm of a plush couch; body covered to the chest with white sheets. His hand slowly reached up to his chest and felt the soft cotton of his white nightgown. His throbbing head rested against a soft pillow and he only now registered the bandage tightly wrapped around it.

Grell knew who survived the angel blast. He knew who the young ones were referring to in their jeers, why Ronald was beside him reading Shakespeare, why he even heard Will talking to him. He just wanted to sink further in the bed at the series of gradual realizations.

What day was it? How many hours, days, weeks, maybe years had it been since the attack?

Another sudden thought made him draw in a sharp gasp: "I wouldn't want to be around when he sees himself" one of the young ones said.

There was no bandage on his face. His hand slowly passed from his chest over his face, feeling a small growth of stubble across his chin and under his nose that told him it had been a few days. Granted he rarely went a day without shaving, but thankfully his facial hair never grew too thick. Regardless it was already so prickly and gross, Grell grimaced in utter disgust; he would want a shave as soon as possible. His hands crept further up his face; his nose was in tact as was the other structures on his face. Nothing was aching, nothing was swollen, everything fine up to his forehead. Both his eyes were working normally, though he would want his glasses soon. Grell felt the bandage, but then realized it was the only thing he felt around his head.

His hand started to shake, drawing away for a moment before he slowly forced it back to his head. One finger hesitantly dipped under the bandage to find nothing but smooth skin. He slowly rubbed his head, taking care not to press down too hard lest he irritate whatever work was done. His scalp was tender, though he felt no area-specific stings nor any stitches. The reaper's natural healing probably took care of that; everything cut open or taken out probably glued itself in when put back in place. Grell did realize he did not feel the soft thickness of hair under the bandage; only the skin of his scalp. His hand slowly passed around his head, everything was clean around his head and neck as well.

Grell's lower lip trembled and he let out a few whimpers: his hair was gone. A few tears welled from his eyes as the reality sunk in. He was bald. All of his beautiful, thick red hair was gone. They probably had to shave his head for the surgery, another quick feel under the bandage confirmed it; his hair was only short stubble.

His hand rubbed the side of his face and he whimpered a bit louder, the press of sobs sending a quick stab of pain through his head. He took a few deep breaths and dropped his hand to his side. It was only hair; Grell told himself that over and over again. He just went through an angel blast and only lost his hair in the process. Reapers could grow their hair out at will anyway, he could get it all back as quickly as he lost it. Maybe he could play with a few different lengths too, at least he would be alive and coherent enough to do so.

A steady stream of tears poured down his cheeks and he allowed a few breathy sobs. I'm alive after all, he thought to himself repeatedly. This was only a gut reaction, a normal reaction to such a sudden change. He took a few more deep breaths and wiped a few tears from his cheeks.

His entire body ached, his head worst of all. Here he was just waking up in a clean white nightgown, shorn of his hair, void of his glasses, a healthy coating of stubble across his face. Grell felt raw, clean perhaps? Here he was physically and emotionally stripped of everything and left in a more humble form, but he was alive. He survived something that was supposed to kill all reapers it effected, now he was awake and regaining his bearings like a newborn. He would pull out of this completely, he would return to the field again with as much if not more vigor; that was his promise to himself.

Grell found some strength to lift his arm to the side and slowly feel the top of the night table for his glasses, his head ached a little to much to turn it over in that direction. All he felt was a blank tabletop and the cold side of the basin. He let out a little huff, slowly turning his head to look at the table.

The usual basin was there, as was a generous collection of flowers. Grell's jaw dropped; a few small vases of colorful flowers, another vase held several single red roses with tags on them. Despite his blurred vision, he could make out a few names of reapers he recognized. Off to the side was a worn-looking stuffed bear with a few orchids placed in its arms, a tag around its neck with the name of a reaper now simply called Undertaker. Grell grinned wide. So he did have colleagues watching out for him.

A pair of red framed glasses suddenly appeared in front of his face, he almost immediately saw the black-gloved fingers around them. Grell took his glasses and smiled, gradually unfolding the arms and seeing the chain was off for convenience before putting them on. William's form was much more visible now; he lay his head back and stared at the beautifully stern reaper in front of him.

William's face was expressionless per usual. Grell saw a bit of more softness in his gaze though he made every effort to look as serious and businesslike as he could

"Good morning, darling," Grell said with a smirk. "Or should I say afternoon or evening, your pick."

"The first was accurate," William said. "It's about 8:30."

"Though I should be asking what day it is, or rather how long I've been out for," Grell said.

William looked at him for a moment, his expression relaxing even more. He looked somewhat relieved.

"Do you know where you are and why you're here?"

"I do," Grell said. "A lot of it's fuzzy, but somehow I remember the whole incident. The last thing I remember was stumbling into the office and falling on that couch in the lounge."

"That's where we found you; still as a corpse and completely unresponsive."

"I think I heard you and Dr. Ian talking about the damage done to my head."

"You heard that? He said you would be in and out of it, rather interesting to know how in you would be," William said, pushing up his glasses.

"The 'in' part has been a work I progress," Grell said.

"What do you recall?"

"The most batty dreams I've ever had, then occasionally hearing someone speak and not knowing if it was all part of the same soup."

"The doctor said such could be the case," William said, slowly sitting down in the chair beside him. "Your brain resorting itself after the trauma it endured; all the little nerves and synapses reconnecting themselves or something to that effect. He's the better authority on this than I, though I do recall he mentioned that some gravely injured reapers will view their Cinematic Record in their own minds."

Grell managed a grim chuckle.

"That about describes it, a few reels in mixed order with the rest of the nonsense in my brain," Grell said.

"The sort of thing that would render any outside viewer a drooling mess for the rest of their existences if they viewed but a moment," William said.

"Imagine seeing it first person, though I suppose I know my own madness," Grell said with a smile. "So how long have I been out for?"

"Five days."

Grell sighed and looked back up at the ceiling.

"Brilliant," Grell said.

"Mr. Knox said you truly came around last night. Said you asked him who the 'poor bloke was who got the angel blast.'"

Grell thought he saw a shadow of a smirk on this one and couldn't help but snicker a bit.

"I answered my own question," Grell said. "Now whatever did become of that angel?"

"It died rather horribly from what I gathered," William said, his upper lip slightly curling. "We arrived at the scene shortly after the blast, just in time for Sebastian Michaelis to emerge from the mess grinning like the cat that ate the canary. It sickens me to think on what we found there, though I prefer it when vermin takes care of vermin."

Grell grinned: oh darling Bassie, so efficient.

"The incident was investigated rather thoroughly in these last few days, the Council examined Matilda Cornwall's completed record and even looked through Ciel Phantomhive's record for corroboration." William said. "You were given a few commendations; one for saving a soul from a predatory creature, one for preventing an unscheduled human death, and one recognition for taking serious injuries whilst performing the former two."

Grell raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"They were likely rather shocked to use the gold seal rather than the red mark on my record," Grell said.

"Needless to say you are on paid medical leave for as long as you need to recover," William said. "I was told you could retire should you feel the need, though I know what the answer would be to that."

"I should hope so," Grell said with a laugh. "You can tell them a little smash to the head isn't going to stop me."

"I figured," William said. He then paused for a moment. "I had to read that one entry in Earl Phantomhive's record a few times to fully believe what I was seeing. You saved his life and, from the looks of it, you did so as a conscious act."

Grell really didn't know what to say to that.

"I'll be honest, I have been pondering whether your injuries were the result of poor timing or perhaps a truly noble act," William said.

"Willie, you know better than to try to rationalize anything I do," Grell said.

"I won't inquire if you could do the same," Will said with a smirk. "I concluded that reason for the earl's rescue was your own. The results were still the same."

"Perhaps it was best if you left it at that," Grell said. An uncomfortable pause settled between them for a moment. "Where is Ronnie now?"

"On assignment."

"Tell the poor boy to swing by when he gets a free moment."

"He has been spending a bit of time here anyway, I'm sure he'll be along at his next available moment."

Grell found a more comfortable position on the pillow and smiled, feeling a pit of warmth in his chest.

"He is such a dear," Grell said.

"He was here a few nights ago when you went into seizures," William said. "Dr. Sutherland said he was practically screaming for help."

Grell looked up at William, his mouth slightly open.

"You gave us a bit of a scare," William said. "I'll let the doctor explain more to you, but they were afraid you started bleeding again. Thankfully such was not the case."

Grell closed his eyes for a moment. He still remembered the scream: "Don't do this please."

"I remember hearing Ron's voice pleading with me," Grell said.

"I'd be gentle on the lad then."

Grell opened his eyes, another thought putting a grin on his face.

"I remembered hearing your voice too at one point," he said. "You said I was a good friend."

William kept his even expression, though he seemed to shift uncomfortably.

"You heard that, did you?" William said.

"Did you mean it?" Grell said.

William gazed hard at him, the corners of his mouth relaxing slightly.

"Perhaps I did," he said.

Grell slowly reached his hand up to William's. William stayed still for a moment as Grell gently clasped his hand, though gave his own modest grip. His expression slightly softened, prompting Grell to smile back. They gazed at each other for a moment.

"You know you won't be rid of me that easily," Grell said.

The corner of William's mouth turned up in a slight smirk.

"To he honest, Grell Sutcliff, I figured that all along," he said.

* * *

><p><strong>Two weeks later<strong>

Ron practically slammed open the back door of the theater, taking a leap off the step and onto the cobblestones of the alleyway.

"I got it well enough, though were the chaps in Shakespeare's time that bloody naïve," he said, keeping the door open for Grell to lightly step onto the street.

"No, though I do think Othello himself was meant to be an exception, perhaps a warning against being too trusting," Grell said

He casually leaned his back against the building, folding both hands behind him; a few spikes of his hair pressing against the bricks. He brought a hand up and ran it through the short locks almost as a force of habit. Dr. Ian gave him the go ahead to grow it out a few centimeters, though wanted him to save most of his energy for recuperation. Grell could start growing it out a bit more in a few weeks though a little at a time; nothing that would cause too much of a jar to his head as it healed more.

Grell missed his flowing locks terribly, though was quickly accustomed to this style. With the black jacket and red waistcoat he occasionally wore off duty, he actually looked like a gentleman. It was a good disguise; perhaps good for novelty, but nothing else. A black dress with a high collar would flatter this haircut so much better.

"No laugh, I mean if I was a manager and I passed over some bloke for a promotion, I'd be a little suspicious if he started getting all chummy with me and telling me my girlfriend was shagging the guy who beat him out," Ron said.

Grell was rather pleased with Ron for understanding the themes of "Othello." Ron buying those tickets in the first place was a wonderful gesture; a little "get well" present, or rather a way to get Grell out into London for a few hours.

His energy wasn't nearly at peak and he still occasionally got an ache in his head, but he had been well enough to walk around. He still had a few more physical therapy sessions, but the general comment was he was improving faster than anyone thought. His speech was unaffected and he was fast regaining his strength and the agility he always had. A few whispers said he could be back at his post in a few more weeks, light duty to start to get himself reacclimated.

Dr. Ian said it was okay for him to go to London for a little while, nothing too strenuous and he should have another reaper with him in case any trouble arose; health related or otherwise. Ron told him he'd give Shakespeare more of a go and Grell read about this particular production in the Times. Ron had enough money for back row floor seats, which was good enough for both of them.

"It would seem that simple, though 'Othello' is as much about the psychological factor," Grell said, walking away from the building and toward the street, Ron falling in step beside him. "You have a man who is persecuted for his race, not knowing where anyone's true loyalties lie, though he wants to have someone he can count on. That is what Iago becomes for him, that friend and that is what makes Iago's plotting so insidious."

A prickling cold set in on his back, he looked over to Ron who shivered as well before shooting him an alarmed look. A demon was right behind them.

"No, the first assessment was correct, Othello was indeed a fool," a young voice said behind them.

Ron visibly relaxed and a smile came across Grell's face. They both turned around to see Earl Phantomhive in a black suit with a ruffled shirt and black tie, black cloak over his small shoulders. Sebastian Michaelis stood a few steps behind him as usual. Grell put his hands behind his back and took a few steps closer, one hand raised to give Sebastian a little wave.

"One should never keep their back turned to the betrayals of honest men, nor let persecution be a distraction," Ciel said.

"Well aren't you a smart one," Ron said.

Ciel's glance fell on Grell for a few lingering seconds.

"Good evening, Grell," Ciel said. "It took me a moment, but I knew that was you in the floor seats."

"I know, I took on a bit of a different look," Grell said, tossing a few strands of hair. "I actually think it flatters me."

"Indeed, though looking alive can flatter anyone," Ciel said.

"I take it you're not fond of this look," Grell said with a grin, taking a few steps closer and leaning down into his face. "Well we do have some different tastes."

Ciel looked at him for a moment, the shadow of a smirk coming across his face.

"Actually, Grell, I am pleased to see you still standing," Ciel said.

Grell raised his eyebrows and smiled, slightly backing off from Ciel and putting a hand to his chest.

"I'm awed, I never imagined I'd hear such words from you," Grell said.

"I never imagined I would be in a position to owe you a great debt," Ciel said. "Sebastian told me the nature of Cassius' last attack; it is lethal to humans, though from the way you looked the last we saw you we speculated that reapers are vulnerable to it as well."

Telling a demon about a vulnerability was always a bad idea, though Sebastian knew the angel blast was universally deadly. This wouldn't exactly be a trade secret.

"Your assumption would be correct, though I live" Grell said, seeing Ronald step back a few paces though keep a close eye on the two. "In fact I'm the third reaper in Great Britain to endure such an attack. This dainty lady is as tough as diamond, dear boy"

"And diamonds can be shattered with the right force," Sebastian said. "You were in rather rough shape when we last parted. As 'The Voice of the Almighty' directly targets the brain, might I ask if your new haircut had anything to do with that incident. I assume even reapers understand their own vulnerabilities to have their own doctors and surgeons on staff."

"Readin' into it a bit aren't you, Bassie?" Ron said.

"Ronnie," Grell said, holding a hand up.

"I'm merely trying to understand the graveness of the situation," Sebastian said. "Give my master a greater appreciation for the level of danger you were in upon rescuing him; perhaps you sustained an injury that reapers cannot naturally heal."

Sebastian's gaze gradually turned to Ciel. Ciel glanced up at him with a grave expression he then transferred to Grell. Grell simply smiled at him, running a hand across his scalp.

"Fortunately a scar wasn't part of the equation," Grell said. "And you are correct, Bassie, we do have doctors trained extensively in the reaper condition. My caretaker was indeed most skilled in the surgical arts."

Ciel kept his grave expression, the usual uncomfortably sympathetic look one gives to another who has endured such an injury.

"You did indeed sacrifice a lot," Ciel said. "You could have easily turned tail and ran, or left me in there and smiled as I died horribly. Or perhaps you didn't want an angel doing those honors."

"Though it's your butler's job to protect every little hair on your head, is it not?" Grell said with a grin. "After all, if Bassie couldn't swoop around a building and catch you in his loving arms at a moment's notice, what kind of a butler would he be?"

Sebastian gave a good natured laugh at this one, Ciel chuckled a bit.

"Why did you save me?" Ciel said.

"The appreciation from this kid is just overwhelming," Ron muttered.

"No, no, it's a fair question," Grell said, putting his hands on his hips. "Just why did I save you? To tell you the truth, I don't believe I know the answer myself. Just seemed the thing to do at the time."

Ciel narrowed his eyes.

"A rubbish answer, I know, but it's the honest truth," Grell said. "Or perhaps somehow it was it as instinctual."

Ciel gazed at him for a moment, then gave a half-smirk.

"Do you indeed have a motherly instinct?" Ciel said.

Grell folded his arms and smirked.

"Perhaps," Grell said.

Ciel chuckled, his smirk slightly widening.

"For whatever reason you did it," Ciel said. He bowed his head slightly. "And for that, Grell Sutcliff, you have my gratitude."

"Sincerely appreciated," Grell said, pivoting on his heel. "Though I don't expect you to think the better of me."

"Perhaps not, though maybe I might not think the worst of you as much," Ciel said.

Grell looked at him for a second.

"How kind," Grell said.

He made eye contact with Sebastian and smiled. Sebastian gave a stiff smile in return.

"Alas, we do have other business to attend to," Sebastian said.

"That is correct," Ciel said, nodding his head. "I bid you gentlemen good evening."

Grell lightly shuffled over to Sebastian, his step a little slower now though much faster than just a few days ago. He took Sebastian's hand and put it to his lips.

"Goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow, dearest Bassie," Grell said.

Sebastian allowed the touch for a moment before pulling his hand away with the snap of his wrist, though a lingering smile remained. He heard Ron chuckle a little off to the side. Grell took a few steps away, kissing his fingers and blowing a kiss in Sebastian's direction. Sebastian made no response, only giving them a lingering look as he and the earl walked away.

"Grell," Ciel called back.

Grell spun on his heels and faced in his direction.

"Make sure to get some rest," Ciel said, turning back around and walking away.

Sebastian gave them both one lingering look before turning his head around.

"Cheers, Bassie," Ron said with a mocking wave.

Grell watched them until they turned the corned back onto the street; gone from view but still more than a memory. Validation perhaps that all of this was real, he was indeed seeing this all in front of him.

It was all real because he was really alive. This wasn't a cycle of memories mixed with odd visions, this was memory in the making. His Cinematic Record was still being written, it was a wonderful thought.

"How about we find something to nibble on, I'm starving," Grell said.

"You don't have to ask me twice," Ron said.

**The End**

Author's Note: Thank you for sticking around through all the mindscrew. I hope this chapter sufficiently capped things. This idea literally woke me up on a random morning and turned into this story. A huge thank you to all my readers on each of the sites this was posted on. A few of the things here were random ficlet ideas (the part with Grell as a demon and the incident with Grell getting cut with Alan's scythe) the rest just seemed to generate itself.

A couple of influences: I drew a lot from my previous Death Note fic "Red Hands" in terms of the structure and the overall theme. Both this and "Red Hands" owe a lot to the narrative style of the movie "Jacob's Ladder" and I also took some other inspiration from "The Sixth Sense." The concept of the angel blast came directly from "Dogma" where any human who hears the true voice of God will have their head and heart explode. The whole Grell demon idea was inspired by the song "The Serpentine Offering" by Dimmu Borgir, I also recommend Skillet's "Awake and Alive" for the action scene in Act II and "The Cave" by Mumford and Sons for the scene with Grell and William in Act III, or most of Act III for that matter.

Once again, thank you all for reading this!


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